Don't Let Me Be Gone
by bluryyf4c3
Summary: Josh loves Tyler. Loves Tyler more than anything. But Tyler is broken. And Josh doesn't know whether he can fix him.


'Help me,' His eyes are dark, swollen and glistening in the darkness, 'please…don't leave me alone.' His voices cracks, 'don't leave me with him.'

September

Watery sunlight flooded the apartment – it was small, but the windows where big; the kind where you have to make sure your blinds are down when you get out the shower.

I could feel the weight of his body against me; his breathing was soft, calm and steady. His jaw hung open slightly, the smallest snore escaping every once in a while. He was curled, tightly against me, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other tucked neatly beneath his head. I loved him most like this. Calm. Still. Almost the boy I had fallen in love with.

But even like this, even when he was calm and still and silent, I could feel fear coiled up in the pit of my stomach. Wound tight and taught. I swallowed, thickly around a lump I didn't know had formed in my throat.

He was thinner now than he had been in college, his ribs jutted, and his hip bones dug into my leg. I wanted to try and tell myself it was because we didn't eat left over take out every night, or that it was because he didn't live off of cafeteria meals, but that was a lie.

He barely ate because Blurryface told him not to.

Understanding the hold Blurry had over Tyler took me a long time. I thought, back in college when he had opened up and told me about Blurryface that I understood.

I thought I understood a lot back then.

Perhaps I did understand it. On the surface, I understood that Tyler battled with a form of mental illness, which they believed to be Dissociative Mental Disorder, or a form of schizophrenia. I understood that sometimes he wasn't himself. He was someone else. I understood that Blurryface was able to come and go at any time, but there were triggers and memories and situations that would cause Blurryface to take hold. But maybe what I had failed to understand was the impact, the pain, the torture that Blurryface put Tyler through.

He shifted in my arms, letting out a light snore. I ran my hands through my hair, trying to work my fingers through a tangle.

We moved into the apartment after college, thinking back we never even discussed moving in together, it just happened. I picked up work at a local music store, selling instruments and albums to kids dressed in black skinny jeans with parents disapprovingly lingering outside. Tyler started writing. He wrote articles for an online blog. It paid. Not well, but it paid. More importantly, it kept Tyler enthused…motivated, even if that motivation meant that he did spend countless days and nights huddled over his laptop, headphones in, listening to demos and songs by unknown kids…probably the same ones I sold instruments to. I enjoyed reading his work, feeling his passion flow off the screen. Reading his articles reminded me of Tyler, reminded me of the boy I had met in college – avid and driven but still collected and eloquent. Those articles didn't remind me of Blurry. He hadn't gotten to them.

The realtor described our apartment as 'cosy', a term, which translates to small. It was open plan – Tyler liked that. It looked out onto the river and an open area where families would come and picnic under large trees. The large windows made it so, even in winter, sunlight flooded the small space and filled it – I liked that. I thought it would be good for Tyler. He didn't often leave our apartment – not for longer than a few hours – so I at least wanted him to be able to see the sky and the river and people. Thinking back, it was probably a silly idea. A romantic, childish illusion that I would fight Blurryface with a nice view. But I had clung to it all the same.

My alarm bleeped loudly beside me, 8:30am. I swatted at it, flicking the off switch. Tyler shifting in my arms, his eyes slowly opening.

'What time is it?' He murmured, squinting and pushing his face down into the pillow.

'8:30.'

'Tired.' He slurred, I forced a laugh.

He's almost always tired now; perhaps because he doesn't eat enough; perhaps because he stays awake for hours. I could list a hundred reasons why he's tired, but I know really it's because he's battling. Every second of his day becomes an exhausting battle. A battle between reality and the constant nagging and plaguing words that Blurryface whispers in his ears.

'C'mon,' I gently ruffle his hair, 'You need to get up,'

'How long have you been awake?' He mumbles, face still pressed into the pillow.

I wasn't sure when I had woken, possibly an hour ago, maybe longer, 'Just woken up,' I lie.

He murmurs something, incoherent, before pushing himself up from the pillow. He rolls his shoulders back; the blades of his shoulders come scarily close to pinching together. He lets himself fall, lazily, back down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me.

He kisses my chest, a tired, sloppy kiss, and buries his face into my side. I laugh, feeling the warmth of his body against me. He kisses again, slightly lower this time.

It's strange how you get to know each others bodies – you know where to kiss to get a moan, where to bite to get a hiss and how to push your partner to the edge of coherent speech. Tyler knew those places on me. It hadn't taken him long to figure out what I liked, what I didn't like, how to push and test me.

It had taken me longer to figure him out.

He places kisses slowly along my side. He looks up at me, a tiny smirk, his eyes dark. He sucks, biting my side. A moan escapes from my mouth and I let my head fall back against the headboard.

Somewhere in the midst of him kissing my chest, I had grown hard. Pushing up against the sheets of the bed. I can feel him against my leg.

'Hold on,' he shoves the covers back, pushing himself up. He moves from the bed to the chest of drawers beside. He rummages through for a moment before shutting it, 'Where's the stuff?' He was talking about lube, he didn't like saying the word, said it made him cringe.

'Bathroom, top shelf.' He darted from the room into the bathroom. I heard him clattering around. But then he was quiet. I sat for a moment, waiting for him to reappear.

'Tyler?' He didn't answer, 'Ty?' Still silence.

I let out a sigh, shutting my eyes and rubbing them. I pulled myself from the bed, walking through to the bathroom.

'Tyler?' I asked again, but my voice was quiet this time. He was stood, hands braced against the sink. His shoulders were hunched. I walked, cautiously behind him, placing my hand on the small of his back. He tensed under my touch, flinching away from me, as if I'd shocked him.

'Don't.' His voice was a whisper.

'What's wrong?' It felt like a stupid question.

'Please,'

'Tyler?' I stepped behind him, wrapping my arm around his waist. He flinched again.

'Please!' His voice was different this time. Panicked. Startled. But small, as if it was a child, begging. I swallowed, chewing my lip nervously. 'Please, not now!' He looks up, dark eyes shrink wrapped in tears, 'No!' his lips tremble, knees buckling slightly.

I grab at him, holding him upright and tight.

's'not true,' he whimpers, 'That's not true!' I realise then, that who he is talking to. Blurryface. 'It's not true!' His voice is growing now, he's close to shouting, 'You're lying!' He shouts and I feel myself jump slightly.

He's shouting now, words that sounded foreign from his mouth. He lunges forwards, slamming his fists against the bathroom mirror. I grab at him, roughly grabbing his wrists. Tyler isn't the strongest of people, but in that moment there's a power in him that I can't hold back. He pulls against me, freeing his wrists and crashing his fists against the mirror. Shards shatter and splinter, crashing down into the sink.

'Tyler!' I turn him roughly towards me and I'm shouting now, my voice echoing round our small bathroom, 'Tyler look at me!' His eyes are fixed on the wall behind me. He pants heavily, ragged sharp breaths that cause his chest to heave.

'He does,' He whimpers, and his knees buckle, slumping down in my arms, head hanging, 'he does love me!'  
It feels as if someone has winded me, like a sudden blow to my stomach. I feel a lump forming in my throat as I look down at him, helplessly clutching at my legs. He's crying now, tears spilling out of his big brown eyes and down his face.

I slump down beside him, pulling his body into me. Feeling his chest heave and fall as sobs wrack his small body. I hold him against me, squeezing him, scared that I might break him, but not wanting to let go.

'Tyler,' my voice sounds small, I sound afraid and I hate it, 'baby, please look at me,' he doesn't, pushing his face into my chest. He whimpers, pleading over and over.

We sit like that for what feels like an eternity. I plead with him, beg him to look at me, hold him against me until finally he gasps for breath and lets out a spluttering cough. He scrambles, panicked towards the toilet, grasping at the porcelain. Blood smears from his hands against the sides of the toilet.

I cringe at the sound of him retching and gagging. The contents of his already empty stomach spilling out. He falls back, and I grab at him, steadying him.

'Tyler, I'm here, baby it's ok,' I whisper, holding him against my body, supporting him.

He doesn't speak.

He just stares ahead of him.

Silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

We drive in silence to the ER. I try to talk, but Tyler doesn't answer. He just stares down at his hands.

I'd tried to clean and cover them as best as I could, but the cuts were deep crimson lacerations. I had wrapped them in an old t-shirt, but blood oozed against the fabric, pressing through.

Its past 1pm by the time we are seen, a young nurse calls Tyler through to a small examination room. It's painted the colour of sick.

The nurse stares at me for a long time, her eyes darting across my face. Finally, she pulls me into the next examination room, telling Tyler to stay put.

She asks me to sit, so I take a seat on the examination bed. She fumbles through a kit of bandages that is sat on the counter.

'Mr Dun,' she pauses, turning to me, her eyes are concerned and tired, 'Was Tyler angry when he did this?' I stare for a moment, not sure what I'm supposed to say. Yes, but then he was whimpering and curled against me? Yes, but it wasn't him? Yes, but he's not called Tyler, he's called Blurryface?

'No,'

'Did he hurt you?' She almost blurts the question, and suddenly it becomes clear to me why I've been pulled aside. Why she looks so concerned. I almost laugh, but that would seem crazy.

'No, no, he would never…he just slipped,' I'm babbling, 'he was carrying a mirror up a flight of stairs and he slipped, the mirror smashed,' I lied.

'Oh,' she pauses, nodding, 'I understand.'

She doesn't ask any more questions after that.

I didn't want to go back into the bathroom when we got home. Tyler sat on the end of the bed, hunched over. His eyes were heavy.

I knew I would have to tidy up the shards of broken mirror at some point. I knew I would have to. I would have to clean the blood.

'Josh?' His voice catches me off guard. I sit on the bed. We aren't facing each other. I stare at the wall ahead of me. He swallows, 'He…he wants me to be alone.' He's so still but I feel his eyes on me, 'He doesn't want me to love you, Josh.'

I feel my insides twisting.


End file.
